I was given an assignment for my Italian Fashion and Food Stories class: spend 20 minutes writing about a culinary memory. Since I’m heading to Oktoberfest tomorrow and can afford to crank out CST before I go, I figured I’d feed two birds with one scone.
I come from a long line of esteemed matriarchs with a deft hand for cooking and baking. My mom, my mom’s mom and I’m sure her mom, too, are or were phenomenal cooks.
My mom taught me how to cook — I talk about my mom enough in this column — It’s time to shake things up. Sorry, Ma. Today is about Grandma.
Hi, Grandma! I miss you!
One July evening earlier this year, I did something terrifying: I cooked for my grandma.
I know, I’m very vocal about loving to cook and this shouldn’t sound like a crazy feat, but I still get nervous in the kitchen a lot, especially when cooking for a seasoned chef. So, when I was tasked with making a meal for the person who taught the person who taught me to cook, it seemed impossible.
I self-reflected. Would there come a day when, if I were to continue being Chef Sylvie, people wouldn’t want to cook for me for fear of judgment?
Thankfully, I think I’m a bit ahead of the curve and can remedy this. I know the secret sauce to letting people cook — it’s a three-step recipe my grandma modeled perfectly for me.
Step 1: She stayed as far away from the kitchen as the condo would allow while I cooked. Maybe one day you can watch me cook if you really want to, Grandma, but I’m still kind of intimidated.
Step 2: She told me she was tired and didn’t feel like cooking, but that we had all of the ingredients to make a stir fry. I can make a pretty decent stir fry — maybe not Plex level, though.
And, finally, the key ingredient.
Step 3: She helped herself to a second portion and asked me what ingredients I used to dress the dish. When my grandma made an almost identical stir fry for our whole family a month or so later, it confirmed something I already knew — She enjoyed my cooking.
Realistically, of course, she would. Not that my dish was anything to write home about, but I strongly believe that to any amazing chef, the only thing more satisfying than your own dish being a hit is successfully training a new chef.
Wait, I — so — cooked… Whisk drop?
Actually, that was only 18.5 minutes of writing; I don’t want to serve this dish half-baked. What am I missing?
Oh! Grandma, can you please teach me to make Kibbeh when I’m home? I’m ready!
Then, I can make them for you.
Sylvie Slotkin is a Medill junior. She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.
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